poetry tea time

Afternoons are for tea and poetry,
A sip of words and wit.
The silver will be polished
and the beeswax candles lit.

Fetch Mama's floral table cloth,
Grandma's dainty cups,
The brand-new teapot Daddy bought,
And fill the kettle up!

Shake out embroidered napkins
And lay them for us three.
Gather yellow daisies from the yard
with purple chicory.

The milk glass vase is found
Among cobwebs beneath the sink.
Fill it from the tap and give
The flowers something cool to drink.

Fumble through the books
that line the bookshelf walls.
Frost, Wheatley, Dickinson -
Our friends have come to call!

The smell of sugared scones
Wafting through the air
And the whistle from the kettle
Beckons us to our chairs.

Chamomile, my dear, or would you
like to taste the chai?
Will milk and honey do, my dear?
Does lemon satisfy?

Chatter, like a smile:
Pass the cream! Pass the jelly!
Teaspoons clink, teacups clatter,
We begin to fill our bellies.

Then, soft words ask for silence.
A cadence, like a song,
A rhythm without music -
My tongue plays along!

Page by page, line by line,
We pick our favorite verse.
The ones that feel like home,
The ones we have rehearsed.

A spill upon the tablecloth
The candle's melting low
Baby's lids grow heavy
And the tea no longer flows.

Smokey curls from candlesticks
Crumbs upon the floor,
Honey-laden finger
And a heart that's full, once more.